


Restraint

by echoist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Play, light injury, rampant trust issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...or, Trust And Where It Falls. </p><p>Before the full moon hits, Stiles decides to 'help' Derek plan out how to restrain the rest of the pack. Like most of Stilinski's plans, this one goes a little off the tracks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

 

The silence in the room was enough to swallow them whole, so of course, Stiles had to break it. He shuffled his weight back from one foot to the other, searching for something to say. Or at least, something _relevant_ to say. Something that might earn him a response, and Derek's continued tolerance for his presence in a space where he generally wasn't allowed.

“So this is what you're planning on using to hold them back?” Stiles asked, kicking at the box with his sneaker. “Doesn't look like much to me. Though, it does nicely match the tattoo on your back if I do say so -”

Derek crossed the room and knelt beside the box, lifting the lid. He looked up at Stiles, waiting for a reaction. Stiles licked his lower lip, then clearly tried to discourage attention from the action by squeezing his lips together as tightly as possible. “Are those, ah,” he attempted. “Chains?” Derek agreeably hefted a length of heavy welded steel chain from the box and let it slip through his fingers to the floor. “And what,” Stiles added, looking deeper into the box. “Leather restraints, too? Never knew you were the type, Hale,” he joked, a foolish smile stuck on his face for a little too long.

“I'm not,” Derek deadpanned. “But new wolves sure as hell are. They get out of these, we're all in trouble.”

“Jesus, what is that?” Stiles asked, reaching into the box and getting his hand smacked away. “A bear trap?”

Derek pulled out the spiked crown, admiring it for a moment. “Laura got this one for a long time,” he said, an amused smirk on his face. “She had some trouble anchoring her change, even though we grew up with it.” The smirk faded into something regretful, something lost, and Stiles slowly moved to take the circlet from his hand, replacing it in the box with care.

“Thanks,” Derek muttered, rising from the floor. He headed into the rail car, scoping it out like an architect might for potential flaws. Stiles followed him in, gripping one of the hand loops that descended, unreliably, from the ceiling.

“So what do you think is going to be the best way to hold them down?” Stiles asked. “I mean, logistically speaking.”

Derek sighed and turned around. “Why do you even care, Stiles? Screw that, why are you here, bothering me, when I could be busy figuring this out on my own?”

Stiles slid slightly into himself, hanging back on the loop and hoping it would hold his weight. “Because I was the one who had to keep Scott in line during his first moon, dumbass,” he muttered. “And my one good idea was to chain him to the radiator, which, _obviously_ , didn't work out so well.”

Derek laughed. Actually laughed at Stiles, the fucker. “You chained him to a radiator?”

“Handcuffed, actually,” Stiles muttered, glancing down at his shoes. “What?” He glared, looking up. “My dad's a police officer, they were the best I had, and besides, in case of, you know, trouble, I've known how to get out of a pair of those since I was five.”

“Somebody was a problem child,” Derek commented, going back to his inspection.

“Yeah, well,” Stiles admitted. “I had actual chains, and that probably would have worked a little bit better except Scott is, you know Scott, and he had Allison, for starters, and you were sort of helping him, in your own way, after that, so we never really – ah -” Stiles slowed down as Derek stared at him. “Had to. Use them.”

“I'm going to go ahead and guess that's a positive,” Derek commented, pulling on an overhead bar to test its strength. “It can kind of alter a friendship a bit, chaining someone else down.”

“You sound like you're speaking from experience,” Stiles ventured, wondering when this conversation had taken a serious turn down TMI lane.

“And you sound like you're still here. Remind me why?” Derek asked, sounding not the least bit annoyed that Stiles was, in fact, still here.

“Look,” Stiles offered. “You've got some werewolves to incapacitate. I've got some time. I know I'm nowhere near their strength level -” and damn him, that bastard actually laughed _again._ “But,” Stiles found the balls to continue. “I'm here, and I'm at least Isaac's size, if you needed to figure out some, you know, blocking.”

“Blocking?” Derek questioned, making an incomprehensible face at Stiles.

“Yeah, like, you know, positioning.” He flushed a terrifying shade of red and added, “For the _stage_ , like, like a play or something. Where people are supposed to be at any given time,” he threw out in a rush, gesturing forward with great swoops of his arms.

Derek stared at him considering, tilting his head and then looking around as if to map his body into the surrounding space. “You're shorter than Erica,” he commented. “And a lot smaller than Boyd,” he added, as if it didn't even need to be said. In Stiles' opinion, it really didn't.

“Look,” Stiles pressed. “If they get out because you weren't prepared enough -” Derek glared him into silence and stalked past him out of the rail car. A tiny smile lit Stiles' face at the success. It faded when Derek stomped back into the car carrying an armload of leather wrist and leg restraints.

“Get back,” he ordered Stiles, pushing him bodily to the end of the car.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, a hint of mischief still glinting in his eyes. “See, I thought you could get one of them here -” and he helpfully raised his arms and held them against two parallel poles. Derek grabbed Stiles' arms and stripped the flannel off his shoulders, turning him around in the process and tossing the shirt across a bench seat. Stiles' eyes flew wide at the action, even wider as Derek slid him back around to face him, grabbing his wrists in his hands and repositioning Stiles' arms over his head.

“What -” Stiles tried to ask as Derek set about securing the leather wraps about his wrists.

“You wanted to help,” Derek answered, his voice scratchy and low. “So help.”

“R-right,” Stiles answered, trying to hold his body back from Derek's to hide his steadily growing erection at Derek's complete and expert control over his anatomy. Derek buckled his wrists together over his head, leaving him literally hanging in mid-air. “Um,” Stiles muttered, not entirely certain he was in control of his own words at this point. “Yeah, uh, if I can't reach the ground, I'm probably not going to be much of a thre – oh dear god, what are you doing down there?”

Derek looked up, his hands around one of Stiles' ankles. “Securing the rest of you,” he said, his expression almost – almost managing to be entirely serious. “You can't forget, Stiles, werewolves have claws on their hands  _and_ feet. And I'm pretty sure, actually, that they're  _all_ taller than you.”

“Oh,” Stiles answered, reasonably. “Right. Of course. So you have to – you have to bind my ankles down, too.” He sucked in a breath as Derek's hand slid up his pants leg, hunting for the other side of the buckle. “Perfectly reasonable,” he managed to gasp as the leather gripped tightly at his skin, digging into his flesh.

Derek took his time standing up, after securing both of Stiles' ankles to the seats, taking a long, lingering look at the body that dangled there, helpless, between the rows. Stiles' face had gone red, but he was surprised his vessels had that much blood to scrape together, given the erection tenting his pants. On anyone else, it might be embarrassing to notice, but on Stiles – perplexingly, it just made his blood simmer.

He mentally gave himself a lecture, or at least – he made the effort. Every time his mind tried to remind him that this was a helpless kid entirely at his disposal, Derek reminded his conscience that Stiles had  _asked for it._ Repeatedly, and not just today. Very nearly begged for it, and now he had it, and seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Except for one last thing.

Derek slid his arms up Stiles' legs, enjoying when they pulled and struggled at the restraints. Stiles was breathing hard, and Derek let his hands linger for a moment at his hips, where his shirt pulled away from his belt to expose his stomach. He ran one finger across Stiles' midsection, extremely gratified to feel his breath catch. “Is this what you wanted?” he growled, keeping his voice low, his words only whispers in the strange half-darkness of the rail car.

“I don't-” Stiles began, struggling for air. “I don't know.”

“Sure you do,” Derek said, stroking his stomach and making an odd rumbling sound deep inside his chest, not unlike a cat's purr. A very large cat's purr.

“Ok,” Stiles admitted, pulling himself up for breaths. “Ok, fine, I was baiting you, but I didn't think you'd actually -”

“And that's exactly why I did,” Derek grinned, wrapping a set of clawed fingers around his back. “You have no idea what kind of game you're playing here, Stiles,” he said, forcing his voice into an easy calm before the storm inevitably broke. “No. Idea.” He dropped the words like water into a scalding pan directly next to Stiles' ears.

“I want to, ok?” Stiles pleaded, tugging himself up above Derek. “I do want. This. I want this, a lot. I want everything. Doesn't that count for – for anything with you?”

Derek lowered his head, nuzzled a bit at Stiles' jaw, half aware that his physical actions weren't at all in line with what he was about to say. “Unfortunately not, in this case.”

“Why,” Stiles questioned. “Because I'm too young? Because I swear, if you say that's the reason I'm going to -”

“Because I might kill you,” Derek growled, pushing his claws into the base of Stiles' spine. Stiles winced at the pain at first, open mouthed, then relaxed back into it, taking his breaths deep and slow. “Or turn you,” Derek muttered, aligning his breathing with Stiles' without even noticing, following the curve of Stiles' body as it arched into the pain. He held himself back just far enough to keep their bodies from pressing together as he increased the pressure at the base of Stiles' spine.

“Somehow,” Stiles breathed, remarkably, after a moment. “Somehow I'm not too worried about that.”

Derek looked up, searching his face. “Peter offered me the bite,” Stiles confessed. “I turned it down. I'm never going to ask you for the same thing unless – unless you think -”

“What if I did it anyway,” Derek asked, lips ghosting across his neck, teeth suddenly sharp and fierce against skin already pulled taut.

“You wouldn't,” Stiles answered, his breathing gently returning back to normal as he adjusted to the pain, settling comfortably into it. He hung, suspended in the middle of the rail car, arms bound tight and secure above his head as he slowly and carefully wrecked Derek's world. “I know you wouldn't, not without asking.”

Derek licked a drop of sweat from beneath his jaw and drew back, looking deliberately into Stiles' face. The unreserved trust he saw reflected there was terrifying. Stiles would never be afraid of him, never mistrust or worry that Derek would betray him. Stiles would let him do anything and never be concerned about getting hurt. Right now, Derek could swipe his hand just an inch to the left or right and completely sever a sixteen year old boy's spinal cord, paralyzing him for life. And the expression on that boy's face was sublime.

This was too much, way too much, and he stepped back, scraping his claws against skin as he forced them to retract. Stiles wasn't a wolf, wasn't even a proper member of the pack (whatever that actually meant, his brain tried weakly to argue). Derek didn't have the time or ability to get himself involved in something like this - it was irresponsible. It would take his time and attention away from the others, who  _depended_ on his leadership and most of all, shared in that basic pack level of responsibility to one another. It would overwhelm him like only one thing – one incredibly unforgivable thing - had ever done before and that was what he was really afraid of, when you got right down to it.

One of them would leave this destroyed and it wasn't going to be him, not this time.

“You have no idea what I would or wouldn't do,” Derek lied, pushing to break the trust he saw written in every slim line of musculature that Stiles possessed. “I could hurt you without a thought.”

“I guess that means you think I'd make a pretty decent wolf then, huh?” Stiles asked, a quiet curiosity breaking through the exertion lining his face. Derek closed his eyes, angling his jaw to the floor.

“No,” he answered, honestly. “That is the absolute last thing I want you to be. I'd only end up breaking you.” _You keep me human,_ he felt his blood answer with every beat of his pounding heart. _I'd be lost if I gave you the bite and without it, I can't protect you enough._

He felt more than saw Stiles look up, felt something more drain away in the heat from his face. Good. He'd disappointed him. Soon Stiles would be embarrassed and neither of them would ever,  _ever_ want to mention this again. He backed away from Stiles, left him clinging to his own hands on the bar above. Took each step away carefully, deliberately, his footfalls heavy in the silence.

“And now you're just going to leave me here,” Stiles said bitterly, a crack in his voice. “Of course you are.”

Derek had reached the entrance to the rail car, and forced his feet down that first step. “And do you know why I'm going to leave you here like that?” Derek asked, managing to somehow mask his voice with humor and a hint of malice at the same time.

“So the other wolves can find me later and completely humiliate me?” Stiles asked, his eyes blinking back a few stray tears. “I mean, that's what you want, right? To push me away so far away I won't ever come back?”

Derek froze in the doorway, one hand on the bar. He pulled himself up and made his way to the end of the rail car, placing his hands to either side of Stiles' face. Stiles pressed against his right hand, breathing in the scent of him. Even now, Derek thought. Even now, after everything he'd said, the complicated little bastard still wanted him. Still thought he could trust him.

Could he still be trusted?

He lowered his face to Stiles', kissed his cheek, his jawline, the corner of his lips. Stiles breathed him in, turned his face away from Derek's hands and towards his lips. “No,” Derek whispered. “I would never do that to you.” Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief that seemed to take years. Derek wiped at the moisture below Stiles' eyes, and he nodded a silent thank you. Derek moved his hands to the wrist bindings, began to unfasten their locks and Stiles leaned forward while he was occupied, kissing him full on the lips.

Derek stopped what he was doing, his fingers sliding over the sensitive skin at Stiles' wrists instead. Stiles whimpered a little into the kiss, sucking at Derek's bottom lip as the kiss continued beyond all reasonable expectations of deniability. Derek was kissing him back, hard and full, his hands pressing down on the straps until they made crisp red lines against Stiles' skin. Stiles' body was bending backward through the arch with the force of Derek's weight and any moment now, any moment, Derek expected this to break. Stiles moaned against Derek's mouth, pressing his body up and back against his in what worked out to be a nearly perfect alignment and Derek realized with shocking clarity, as the metal clasps dug into his own wrists, that this might just be exactly as strong as it needed to be.

Derek's fingers finally remembered to undo the catch on either side and Stiles slipped down, tumbling straight into Derek's chest. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and buried his face there, kissing, licking, showing every form of obedience and gratitude he could muster. He wasn't a wolf, he wasn't, but he would be damned if he didn't show Derek that he mattered just as much. Four thin trails of blood trickled down from his back, making Derek's nostrils flare, but not as if to the hunt.

“I won't make you into one of us because I need you to stay human for _me,_ ” Derek murmured against his hair. Something froze up in Stiles, just for a moment, before his arms clung that much tighter around Derek's shoulders. “Not for any other reason,” he continued, stroking Stiles' back, rubbing his hands in the sweat at the back of his neck and the blood at the base of his spine. He wanted that scent all over him, wanted every part of Stiles' body to smell like him in return, every part, when he was at home, in class, on the lacrosse field. When he was here, helping the pack. When he wasn't.

“I need you with me,” Derek whispered, lowering them both to the ground. “I need you so much and you're the one that had to show me that. I'm not – I'm not used to it working that way.”

“You're just not used to me, yet,” Stiles whispered back, knees wrapped around Derek's, his ankles still dangling ridiculously from the leather bindings. It was an awkward position, one that had to be painful as hell, and yet he seemed content to remain that way as long as Derek would like. He knew the marks were still fresh and red on Stiles' arms; could smell the blood rushing closer to the surface. Derek growled again, a low, pleased rumble as he rubbed his face against Stiles' and answered, “Give me time.”

He reached around to unfasten the second set of straps and Stiles made a soft, whimpering noise against his chest as his ankles fell loose to the ground. He wrapped his legs around Derek's waist instead, leaning forward against his chest with a groan as the movements stretched the cuts along his spine. “You're not getting rid of me,” he mumbled, the surge of adrenaline finally spent, leaving him a soft, floppy pile of teenage boy in Derek's lap. He laughed, stroking Stiles' short crop of hair.

“I guess I'm not,” he answered, his other hand loose around Stiles' waist, the hem of his t-shirt already crisp with drying blood. Derek let him stay that way, even when he was sure he was asleep, for a good forty-five minutes, until he realized the rest of the pack were on their way. He woke Stiles, gently, nudging his head off his shoulder. “Hey,” Derek said softly, kissing him on the forehead. “I want you somewhere safe tonight. Which is not here,” he added when Stiles still hadn't moved.

“Oh,” Stiles yawned, pushing back from Derek's chest. “Oh wow,” he said, looking around, then focusing in hazily on Derek. “What time is it? Shit, I was supposed to be home and now it's sunset and – how long was I asleep on you, anyway?” He blinked, letting his own words sink in. “I was sleeping on you.”

“Yep,” Derek agreed succinctly.

“That's ok?” he questioned warily, his muscles tensing slightly.

“Stiles,” Derek answered, pushing him backwards playfully. “You're still sitting in my lap. Yes, it's ok.”

A grin broke out over his face, and Derek could hear the mental cheer of 'success!' going off in his brain. Derek couldn't keep the smile off his own face, even as he yawned and stretched a bit in return, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “The others will be here soon,” Derek informed him. “And I've got a particularly violent lesson to teach, so -”

“Got it,” Stiles nodded, stumbling to his feet. His legs asleep, he wobbled like a foal for a moment, grasping at the seats for support. Derek focused on gathering up the leather straps instead of laughing at him, sensing that idea would not go over well. Stiles found his footing and made it out of the car, Derek behind him, depositing the restraints back into the box and locking it with a small key from his pocket.

“Be careful tonight,” Stiles admonished, reaching up to kiss Derek roughly on the cheek before he swung his pack onto his shoulder and left the station, draping his flannel casually across the staircase rail. Derek stared after him for longer than he intended, scenting the air that slowly lingered in the hollows of the stairs, pooling at the base like water. It smelled of Stiles carrying him, carrying _Derek_ with him, wherever he went, and it was both the most comforting and frightening sensation he'd known in years.  


End file.
